


Shattered Illusions

by shadeshifter



Series: Writers Block [5]
Category: Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mission: Impossible (Movies), NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Civil War Team Captain America, Clint Barton & Will Brandt Are Twins, Complicated Relationships, F/M, M/M, Slightly Alternate MCU, Time Skips, Tony DiNozzo Leaves NCIS Team, Tony-centric, and Will too, attempt at a coherent timeline, quite a lot of Eliot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeshifter/pseuds/shadeshifter
Summary: Tony DiNozzo feels like he’s lost everything, then he’s kidnapped and realises how much more he really has left to lose. Even his humanity. Eliot and Will, through a connection none of them fully understands, are changed in the process too.





	1. Chapter 1

** May 2008 **

Tony closed the door softly behind him and pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache that had begun upon finding out that Jenny had died had turned into a full-fledged migraine somewhere between finding out he’d been reassigned as he stood before Vance’s severe disapproval and making it home.

He’d been having headaches since the whole plague thing. Brad hadn’t said as much, but Tony was convinced that the doctor thought it was psychosomatic. He’d made a big deal of putting Tony through all the tests he could think of, but he’d also been clear that headaches were in no way a known side-effect of what he went through, but they were a result of stress and trauma.

Tony hadn’t been able to bring himself to admit to Brad that they’d been getting worse. His job had been the only thing he’d had for a long time, the idea of losing it had been unthinkable and now he’d lost it anyway. Jenny was dead and he was being sent away and it was a terrible time to have one of his headaches, not when he was supposed to ship out in the morning.

About the only thing he was glad of was that Gibbs hadn’t been at his desk when Tony left and McGee was too focused on packing his own things for his own transfer. Ziva had already been sent on her way. All of which suited Tony just fine. He really hadn’t been in the mood to deal with anyone and it probably would have ended in a confrontation that revealed too many truths for Tony to be comfortable.

Pain lanced through his head, piercing his eyes and he stumbled, resting a hand on the wall to keep his balance. He touched a fingertip to his nose and came away with blood as his vision faded in and out and dizziness swept over him like a wave. His hand slid down the wall as he dropped to his knees.

Suddenly, there was a sensation of floodgates opening and he stared as blood dropped to the floor, pooling below him. He fell, his hands feeling clumsy as he tried to brace himself, and everything went dark.

.

Eliot gasped as a wave of sensation flowed over him; his skin itched and crawled like the time he had chicken pox as a kid. It was followed swiftly by a punch to his jaw and a hit to his stomach. With a growl, he shook his head and launched himself at the man, barrelling into him without any of his usual speed and grace. He knocked him into the wall and punched him hard so that the man slumped to the ground.

He breathed heavily, looking down the corridor left and right before continuing on his way. There was an artefact he was contracted to achieve, so he pushed his concern over whatever that feeling was to one side. He had a job to do and he couldn’t afford the distraction.

.

Will turned over in his sleep, grumbling softly in protest. His brow crinkled into a frown and he curled up protectively, shivering despite the relative warmth of the night air.

In the morning he’d only remember a sense of disturbing dreams where he felt like he was running from something, but no matter how fast he went, he could never quite escape it, which left him unsettled.

.

When Tony finally roused an indeterminate time later, it was to relief that the pain was gone though he still felt impossibly weak. There was a shuffle of footsteps and a rustle of movement that had him forcing himself to breathe normally and try to gauge who it was and how many.

His concentration was interrupted when rough hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. He blinked his eyes open with effort and struggled to get his feet under him even as he sagged in their hold. By his count there were the two holding him and another two in the room with him, but he could hear noise further into his apartment, which didn't bode well for his chances. Not with as weak as he was feeling. But they hadn't killed him when he was out and vulnerable, which meant they were keeping him alive for whatever reasons. When he didn't show up for his posting, people would start looking for him. He just had to make it until then.

“The sedatives taking effect?” the one on his right asked. The one on his left jostled him a little and his head lolled.

“Seems like it.”

The men were dressed in black tactical gear without any identifying markings. Tony couldn’t imagine which of the enemies would come after him like this. Most of them would have just killed him outright or they would at least be eager to tell him exactly why.

One of the men gripped his chin in a bruising hold and held up a device that swept over his face with a bright light. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to jerk away but the hold was too strong. Finally he was released and he sagged again, exhausted by the small effort.

"What shade of green would you say his eyes are?" the man holding the device asked. The two men at his side looked at each other and shrugged. "Never mind, I doubt anyone's going to look that closely and it's not like anyone will know him personally."

"What..." Tony managed to mumble, but he was ignored. The man with the device, the one who seemed to be in charge, went to a large metal case that he flipped open. Inside was a mess of machinery Tony couldn't even begin to fathom, but the guy in charge seemed to know what he was doing when he hooked up the device.

"We've got everything we need," one of the men coming out of his bedroom said.

“We need to clear out before Shield shows up,” his companion said.

“One of ours will make sure they don’t register the energy signal,” the guy in charge told them dismissively.

They were clearly finishing up whatever it was they were doing and Tony knew he was running out of time.

"No," Tony said as firmly as he was able. They ignored him again. He let his weight hang from the grip of the goons on either side of him and the one on his left lost his hold. Tony dropped, hanging awkwardly from the right goon's painful grip. "No!"

"Agent DiNozzo," the man in charge said, coming to stand just in front of him, "while your co-operation would greatly improve the ease with which we can work, it is not a requirement."

"Fuck you," Tony swore. The man raised an unimpressed eyebrow and turned away. He went back to the case when it beeped and took something from it, something about the size of an sheet of paper but malleable like material. The goon who hadn't participated in anything yet came forward and took it, fitting it over his face. Light flickered across his face and a moment later Tony was looking at a replica of himself.

“Are you prepared to report to his posting?” the man in charge asked.

“Yes sir,” the man wearing his face said.

“No one can suspect that he is not where they think he is.”

“I understand,” the man wearing his face said, shouldering the bag the other two men had packed. “Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra,” the others echoed.

Oh god, Tony thought, no one was ever going to find him.

....

**June 2009**

Will stared down at the body. He couldn’t identify it as anything more than that. It didn’t resemble the woman he’d been assigned to protect. Julia Hunt, nee Meade, had been missing for two days. He’d still held out hope that they’d find her alive, that it was part of a plot to get to Hunt that would only work while she was alive. That clearly wasn’t possible now.

He’d never failed a mission before, never failed anything really, not once he put his mind to it. Nothing except trying to find his brother and now this. Failing his brother had driven him to the IMF and intelligence gathering, he wasn’t entirely sure what this would drive him to.

He wasn’t sure where Ethan Hunt was, but his team was tracking him. The agent had been told about his wife’s death, Will knew, and he could only imagine what he would do now. Hunt didn’t know about Will’s involvement either, and whatever the consequences of that, Will couldn’t exactly blame him.

He belatedly realised his hands were shaking.

.

Eliot cocked his head to one side, pausing in his cutting and putting the knife down. It had been over a year since the last time and he still didn’t know any better what was going on. He wasn’t sure where to begin to find out, but he thought maybe he should meditate later, try to center himself and see what he might uncover that way. With a grunt, he refocused himself and picked the knife up again, going back to chopping carrots.

.

Tony lay on his cot, curled up to ease his aches and pains. Even his skin hurt, like it was too small for him. Hydra had pushed him hard today, trying to work out what he was and what he could do. Beyond an increased strength and durability, Hydra hadn’t uncovered much of anything about his abilities or what it was that had actually happened.

“Hey freak,” one of the guards said, tapping the glass that made up one wall of Tony’s cell.

Tony’s eyes opened and he reached out without moving, making a small tweak.

“I think I left the door unlocked,” the guard said to himself, wandering away.

.

“Sir?” Turner asked, cutting through the white noise that encompassed Will’s thoughts. He was a good agent, a credit to Will and the IMF but Will didn’t really want to deal with him at the moment. Unfortunately, he still had a job to do.

Will turned, forcing himself to look away from his failure. Turner was watching him with an openly concerned look and Will straightened his shoulders and firmed his jaw. His agents didn’t need to see him fall apart.

“What about Agent Hunt?” he asked.

“Disappeared, sir,” Turner told him. “We can’t find any trace of him.”

“I...” Will began, trailing off. He didn’t know what to do, where to begin. They wouldn’t find Hunt if he didn’t want to be found, and there was nothing left for them to do here. He’d failed Hunt. He’d failed Julia. He’d failed his team and himself. “Arrange for the body to be sent home. And pack up the safe house. We’re done here.”

“Yes sir,” Turner said with a decisive nod as he turned to leave. He paused a moment before turning back. “We did everything we could, Will.”

“I know,” Will said. That was the problem.

....

**December 2010**

Eliot came to a stop, still on his knees. Around him there were bodies and flames and it was too close to too many memories he’d promised himself would stay firmly in the past.

It had been years and miles and more distance than those concepts could hold since he'd used a gun. He wasn't a different man from the one who'd justified those terrible, awful choices. That man was still him, just under his skin, but he was also the man who'd chosen differently. Given that it was in Moreau's name that Eliot had last used them, it seemed typical that it would be Moreau that drove him to it again.

There was a time when the only thing that had meant anything was the look of affection, smug and condescending though it was, the Moreau gave him when he'd done particularly well. Despite the fact Moreau was a complete sociopath, Eliot was convinced the man at least cared for him a little. It was the only thing that had kept him alive when he left.

He breathed in, mouth set in a grim line, as he climbed to his feet. Nate and the Italian were still in danger. Moreau was still out there. There was the click of a gun being cocked and Eliot turned slowly.

“You said you didn’t like guns,” Chapman said and of all the people to survive, Eliot couldn’t believe it was him.

“I don’t,” Eliot told him and shot before he could react. Chapman went down, a look of surprise on his face. “Never said I couldn’t use them.”

Eliot watched him for a moment, making sure he would stay down before he ejected the magazines of the guns he’d been using and dropped them. He couldn’t let Nate face Moreau alone.

.

Tony sat on his cot, back against the wall and knees pulled up to his chest, as he watched the janitor. The man was focused on his mopping, head studiously down, but Tony could tell the man knew he was being watched. There a quick bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed convulsively; the way he never quite turned his back on Tony's cell; the way he hunched in on himself and flinched whenever Tony moved.

It was difficult to blame him though. The last janitor had been killed in the crossfire of Tony's last escape attempt. Tony did feel a little bad about that, since he'd pushed the man to help him, but not too bad. Tony didn't feel bad for anyone who worked at Hydra, however menial their job might be. Not after everything they'd done to him.

"Can I see your newspaper?" Tony asked for the benefit of the camera recording him. He'd been careful once he realised what he could do not to let Hydra know. Sometimes they left him alone now and he didn't want to reignite their interest in him. His ability was fairly limited anyway. It only worked on one person at a time and only while they were within his sight.

The janitor tensed when he spoke, freezing in place like an small animal faced with a much larger predator. Tony smiled a little to himself and slowly unfolded as the man pushed the paper through the tray slot in the glass.

"Thank you," Tony said dismissively and picked up the paper. The front page detailed the ramifications of some debate about aliens and gods and Tony had to do a double-take to make sure it was a serious newspaper and not some tabloid.

The man glanced up briefly, gaze catching along Tony's temples and the curve of his neck. It was a fairly recent development, the scales there. They were pale and iridescent, barely noticeable really, although they darkened to a deep teal as they followed the line of his spine.

"Leave," Tony told him and the man scuttled away, leaving his supplies behind. He sighed, knowing that would probably raise some questions, but he figured he could talk his way out of it. He made his way back to cot and climbed on to sit cross-legged, the paper spread out in front him.

.

Will flipped through the report in front of him before signing off on it and putting it in his out-tray. He moved on to the next one and began flipping through it until he became aware of someone watching him. A field agent stood in his doorway, watching him with incredulous astonishment.

"We have to spend days on those reports and you just glance over them," the agent said, stepping forward into the office.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Will asked with a frown.

"Eidetic memory?" the agent asked instead. "Would make sense what with you being an analyst and all."

Will narrowed his eyes in something that was close to but not quite a glare. He made a mental note to hold back on his skills in future if he wanted to avoid scrutiny. He'd always been fast, but he hadn't realised his processing speed had improved to such a degree. The IMF had never been too concerned about powered people among their ranks, leaving it up to individuals how to best utilise their abilities, just like any other skill. But Will didn't like standing out and he was still figuring out where he stood with these new abilities. Besides, they seemed best suited for intelligence analysis and that was what he was doing anyway.

The agent stopped at the severe look and swallowed. He shuffled a moment until Will began to question the mental capacity of whoever had let him into the field.

“My report on infiltrating Stark Enterprises,” he said.

Given the fact that he was here dropping off his report and not at Stark Enterprises, clearly he had failed in his endeavour. With everything that happened, the shifting of focus from weapons to energy, the switch of CEO to an untried personal assistant, Stark’s erratic behaviour, an investigation was thought prudent.

Although Stark did seem to settle down after his confrontation with a Russian national at his Expo. Of course, with actual gods walking the Earth and giant green monsters having temper tantrums in populated areas, there were other things to worry about as well.

The agent swallowed again at Will’s even and unrelenting stare, and he dropped his report in Will’s in tray and backed out the office.

....

**December 2011**

Will barely waited for his hotel room door to click shut behind him before he sank to the ground, head in his hands. He'd built himself, built his entire world, around not repeating his failures. He let people down, he got them killed when he failed and that was intolerable. So he fixed himself, pushed himself, changed himself, until those failures couldn't happen again.

Only this time his failure wasn't. This time it had been planned, a plot he wasn't part of, where he was just a pawn suffering unintended consequences. He'd remade himself, doubted himself, questioned every decision, for nothing. How did he move on from that? How did he reshape himself again with this in mind?

Julia was alive, his failure hadn’t killed her, hadn’t widowed Ethan Hunt, a man he respected and admired, even before they’d met. But for two and a half years, that had been who he was. He pulled his knees to his chest and dropped his forehead to them.

How he felt didn’t really matter, not in the end. He’d do what he always did, he’d push it all to one side and do his job because that was expected of him. But maybe he’d start tomorrow. He wrapped his arms around his head and focused on breathing.

.

Eliot followed the team as they piled into Nate's apartment, tired but euphoric from their last job. He paused at the doorway, shifting his stance until he could determine what was setting off his instincts. Sophie was the first to notice his caution, and she placed a hand on Nate's arm, alerting their mastermind as well.

"Parker," Eliot growled and she stopped short, looking at him curiously before casting a glance around the loft. Hardison, as ever attuned to her, stopped as well.

"Your instincts are impeccable, Mr Spencer," a man said, standing up from one of the arm chairs in the living area and turning to face them. He was dark-skinned with an eye-patch over one eye. Eliot moved forward only far enough to put the others behind him.

"Director Fury," Nate said and Eliot wasn't at all surprised that he knew the man as well. Of course, Eliot only knew him by reputation, he'd been fortunate enough not to encounter the man directly. Though he had run into a few of his agents on occasion.

"Mr Ford," Fury said, not drawing any closer or offering to shake any hands. "A pleasure to finally meet you."

"I'm not sure I can say the same, Director," Nate said, coming to stand at Eliot's shoulder, another defense between a threat and their more vulnerable members. Parker was undoubtedly taking watch over the door, covering their exposed side.

"We've been monitoring your group's progress," Fury told them. "You've made quite a splash, always staying just this side of ethical, if not legal."

Great, Eliot thought, another powerful person keeping track of them. At least Latimer was only looking to take them down. Everything that came within Fury's sphere he either controlled or destroyed, there was very little leeway for anything in between. Nate raised an eyebrow but didn't respond.

"I'm here to make you an offer," Fury continued.

"Not interested," Nate said firmly. Fury didn't seem surprised.

"I can't change your mind," he said, not quite a question.

"We prefer to operate independently."

"Of course," Fury conceded, a little to easily. "I'll just leave you to your celebrations."

By the time Fury had left, each side giving each other a wide berth, none of them felt like celebrating their latest win.

....

**May 2012**

Tony wasn't sure what to make of the fact he hadn't seen anyone in what felt like hours. Possibly as much as a day, if the state of his stomach was anything to go by. He jumped up when he heard the clang of a distant door and moved to the glass. Footsteps sounded down the corridor, stopping at some of the cells.

For a while, he'd tried communicating with the other prisoners, but if any of them spoke English, they never gave any indication. Sometimes he'd hear smatterings of other languages, sometimes something close to Italian or Spanish, but not near enough or clear enough to be certain.

With a glance at the camera, Tony frowned in concentration. He slowly and meticulously constructed the image of himself standing at the glass staring at an empty corridor. A worker pushed a tray through the slot and continued on, almost past him by the time Tony felt confident about pushing the image out. The air around him shimmered teal for a moment before fading and he was confident his illusion was stable.

"Stop," he told the worker before the man had gone too far away. "Come here."

The worker obeyed, but then Tony hadn't doubted he would. He'd gotten good at dominating lesser minds. Though, he'd found that the more disciplined or the more stubborn a mind was, the more trouble he had.

"Where is everyone?" he asked.

"Away."

"Where specifically are they?"

"New York."

Tony rolled his eyes. Usually there was a degree of intuitiveness and they responded to his will, not just his direct questions.

"What are they doing in New York?"

"Investigating and recovering what they can before Shield takes control of everything."

"Right," Tony said with a sigh. "And why would they be doing that?"

"Because aliens invaded," the man said.

"Tell me everything," Tony insisted, possibly using a little too much power as the man began to speak, words tumbling over each other.

....

**May 2013**

For a while now, Eliot’s dreams had been plagued with cold and pain and chains and, as they entered the apartment above the pub to see Fury standing at the window, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had been an omen.

“Ms Parker, Mr Spencer, Mr Hardison,” Fury greeted them.

“What do you want?” Eliot growled. He’d always known Fury would be back for the team. Men like Fury couldn’t let an advantage slip through their fingers for long. After almost a year and a half though, he’d allowed himself to believe that the breakup of the team might make them less desirable. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“I have a job for you,” Fury said, unruffled by Eliot’s tone. Eliot folded his arms and watched impassively.

“Go on,” Parker said slowly, her entire body strung taut with tension. Since he'd started training her, she'd gotten good at reading his cues so even if she didn't know who Fury or what he was capable of beyond the brief overview he and Nate had supplied the last time, she instinctively followed his lead when it came to threats to the team.

"You've proven that you are extremely adept at reaching and neutralizing high profile targets with very little exposure," Fury said.

Some things had been easier without Nate and Sophie, some things had been more difficult. One benefit had been that, when he lead them, Nate had a tendency to want to look their mark in the eye as they took him down, which had given them more than a few headaches over the years. Parker was much more likely to favour plans that kept them in the shadows.

"We've recently encountered problems not just with the Ten Rings, but also AIM. There are a number of other such targets where we could benefit from early identification and covert management," Fury continued.

Eliot snorted. What he got from all of that was that he and the team were better than all the resources Fury had at his disposal. Parker looked at him and cocked her head. He shrugged and she nodded in return.

"We need to discuss this," she told Fury. Eliot and Hardison followed her to the office where they engaged their security protocols. Above that, Hardison ran a scan to see if there were any devices planted in the meantime.

"Working with Fury might not be all that bad," Hardison said and he bristled when Eliot simply raised an eyebrow. He hadn't worked so hard to get out from under Moreau only to put himself in the control of someone just as ruthless. And regardless of whether Fury thought he was on the right side of history or not, there was no denying that he was a ruthless bastard.

“We’ll get to play with Stark-tech,” Hardison argued. “Before it’s freely available.”

“Anything we can’t steal?” Parker asked and Hardison had to concede that.

"And the resources we'd have access to," Hardison added instead.

"What if we want to go after someone he doesn't approve of?" Eliot asked and Hardison frowned. None of them worked particularly well within any kind of structure. There was a reason they'd all ended up working on their own before they were brought together for the team.

“Alright, so what if we don’t want to work for him?” Hardison asked.

“Fury doesn’t take no for an answer, not more than once,” Eliot said.

“And if we do turn him down?” Parker asked, but Eliot knew she was already aware of the consequences. “Okay.”

She leaned forward, interweaving her fingers and resting her chin on them.

“He has something in mind for us,” Eliot told her. “That gives us some bargaining power.”

“So what do we bargain?” Hardison asked. “Ain’t no way we can bargain for freedom.”

“But we can bargain a longer leash,” Parker said, beginning to smile. "And there's a lot we can do from there."

....

**November 2013**

They might have won the battle but, as far as Heimdall was concerned, it was a dark day indeed. The Queen was dead and ostensibly the youngest Prince too, though Heimdall trusted him not at all. Not since, as a youth, Loki had managed to tap into Ymir's blood and hide from his sight in the secret passageways.

Something was changing in the Nine Realms; shifting and moving; altering the patterns that had lain unchanged for decades. Heimdall couldn't see it at first, no matter how closely he looked, but then he caught the shape of something, already fraying around the edges and wondered that he hadn't seen it before.

His gaze was drawn to Midgard and he began to realise that the spellwork was subtly woven, so subtly that even he had not felt it's whisper-light presence on his mind. He recognised the weave, the hue of it, and understood why this was the moment it was fading. Spellwork seldom stood up to the death of the caster and even Lady Frigga couldn't withstand the inevitable.

It didn't block his sight so much as it redirected his attention and marked the subject as unimportant, insignificant, utterly forgettable... He forced his focus back with some effort until the remnants of the spell finally gave way beneath his scrutiny.

Beneath the tatters of the spell were three men, apparently mortals, and Heimdall understood immediately why they had been hidden. He would take this as his Queen's dying wish; her last, most desperate act, and he’d keep her implicit promise. Odin must never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is pretty much just set-up. The real exploration starts with Winter Soldier.
> 
> Those of you familiar with Norse mythology probably can guess where I’m going with this ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**April 2014**

Tony waited for the doctor to inject his IV drip, a precautionary measure they always insisted on when moving him after their tests because he'd proved to be difficult otherwise. Really, Tony thought as he created an illusion of him lying docile as he bent the IV line to prevent the sedative reaching him, you break a few people and they get so twitchy.

His escape attempts were sporadic these days and mostly only when he was excruciatingly bored. There were too many layers of security and too many protections against those with abilities for him to ever get very far, but there was something happening, something big. The last time things had been this chaotic with only a skeleton crew on hand, aliens had been invading.

He lay still as they wheeled him out because his illusions were only visual and intangible. If any of the doctors or guards heard or felt him moving without seeing it, they'd realise something was going on. He waited until the doctor split off from them, until they'd moved out of the security of the medical wing, and turned the corner from the men standing guard there. He knew from previous attempts that waiting until they were back in the prison wing would be a shorter run but he would encounter far more security.

It was just him and two guards now with only one camera at the end of the hallway. With everything happening they might not even be watching it too closely. He pulled out the IV, rolled off the gurney and slammed the heel of his hand into the first guard's nose in one fluid movement. Before the second guard could react, he pushed the gurney into his stomach, rolled over the top of it and kicked him in the head. The second guard was out and Tony grabbed his keycard and moved back to the first, punching him in the temple before grabbing his card too.

He jogged down the hallway, not even bothering to hide from the cameras. It would just drain him and they would become far too aware what he could really do. The last time he'd attempted escape, he'd made it all the way to the elevator that would take him to the surface before they'd caught him. They'd interrogated him for at least several days non-stop that time. Although between the drugs, the extended periods of time spent unconscious, and the lack of a day/night cycle, his ability to tell time had been more than a little distorted during his time with Hydra.

He reached the first security check point and let his magic move across his features until he looked like the first guard. They'd know about his abilities now but, at this point, Tony figured it couldn't get much worse than facing the rest of his life - and who knew how long that was going to be anymore with the changes he'd been through - as a science experiment for Nazi doctors.

The door swiped open without any problem. Tony had gotten to that point a few times before, mostly by coercing or controlling a guard, but his times past the next check point were much fewer. He took a moment to prepare a simple illusion of himself a few feet ahead of his actual position, willing to risk at least that.

He moved forward more carefully now, because the guards here carried guns and he was still vulnerable to those. They'd shot at him before, mostly in warning, though he'd had a few grazes in his attempts. So he went slowly because he didn't exactly trust them to be careful with him and even if they were, all it took was one guy with bad aim.

The illusion moved into a junction and Tony dropped to the ground as the guards opened fire immediately. Whatever was going on, they clearly weren't going to go easy on him this time. He crawled forward, keeping close to the wall and waited for the firing to stop when it was clear it had no effect on the illusion. There was yelling and muttering from the guards and he could hear the shuffle of their footsteps as they slowly moved forward. He climbed to his feet, staying in a crouch, until he saw the first barrel of a semi-automatic pass the corner he was hiding behind.

He struck out, grabbing the barrel of the assault rifle and yanking down, knocking the guard off balance. A punch followed that, sending the guard reeling. Tony swung the gun hard, hitting a second guard with the butt of the rifle, and launched himself at a third before the fourth could aim.

"Stop," Tony _told_ them, putting perhaps a little too much force into his words because the two men dropped immediately and Tony didn't slow to check if they were still breathing. Now that he was making the attempt, all his careful plans and cautious logic fell away and all Tony could think about was breathing fresh air again.

He took off down the left hallway, sending out illusions down the other two. They wouldn't last long, not if they encountered opposition, because Tony wasn't there to direct their reactions and it wasn't like they were autonomous. It only had to be enough to split focus. The next guards he came across opened fire as soon as they saw him.

"Sleep," Tony _told_ them and they dropped immediately, guns clattering to the ground and Tony continued on, breaking stride only long enough to grab their keycards just in case. He turned a corner only to come to a stop as he reached the elevator. He could hear the clatter of boots converging behind him and he pushed to create the illusion of empty space just as the guards turned into view. Calming his breathing was a struggle, but at least they were making enough noise that it would be difficult to hear him.

The guards started shouting orders at each other, trying to track his last location and Tony pressed himself up against the wall wondering how he was going to call the elevator without them hearing it, even if he covered it with an illusion. This was as far as he'd ever come in his attempts and the desperate hope that he might actually make it this time left him shaky.

For the first time in far too long, something seemed to go his way and the elevator tinged as it opened, revealing reinforcements. Tony covered his mouth, trying to silence his breathing, and pressed himself further against the wall until all the soldiers had marched out. Waiting until the very last second, Tony slid through the closing doors and pressed the button for the ground floor. The elevator rose steadily but Tony remained tense with anticipation. He had no idea what he would encounter when the doors opened, no idea where he was and what it would take to get somewhere safe.

The elevator opened to silence and Tony found himself trying to hold his breath so he wasn't too obvious. He eased out, jumping a little as the doors shut behind him. For the first time in years, he could see real sunlight filtering through the windows and he had to make himself turn away to continue his examination of his surroundings. What stood out most to him was the feeling of power about the place and he wondered if living there for years hadn’t perhaps influenced what had happened to him. It was something he was definitely going to have to look into when he had a moment. But that was a matter for the future; for the moment he was in a small room with only one exit and that had a card reader next to it. The first two tries didn't yield any results, but there was a click with the third and Tony pressed forward, shutting the door behind him.

From the looks of it, they'd taken over an abandoned church. The ceiling arched high above him and he could almost imagine what it might have looked like before the roof fell through in places or the windows cracked and fell out of their frames. He picked up a sconce that had fallen to the floor and used it bash the keypad this side of the door until it was a mess of metal and wires. Hopefully that would keep anyone from following him for a while.

Tony moved down the aisle, footsteps and breathing loud in the silence. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop as he reached the double doors of the church, one side hanging off its hinges, and stepped into the cold sunshine. His breath misted in front of him but he barely felt chilled, never mind the freezing cold he knew he should. He wondered if it was winter or if he was just so far north it was always that cold. There was a forest of trees surrounding the field the church was in, but he didn't know enough to identify the kind or the geographical zone it was likely to be in.

There was a grinding, whirring sound and two turrets rose from the ground, turning to aim directly at him. He ducked back into the church, shards of brick and wood splinters exploding behind him.

"Oh come on," he muttered to himself. Automated turrets he couldn't do anything about. They wouldn't respond to his commands and he couldn't illusion them, not if they scanned for movement or infrared . The best he could hope for was dodging them. Still, if the choice was between dying when some nazi scientist pushed a little too far or dying in a hail of bullets as he made a bid for freedom, he knew which one he'd prefer.

He took a moment to stretch, all too aware that the longer he lingered the more likely he was to be captured again. He bounced on the balls of his feet, breathed in once, twice, and then made a break for it. He weaved as he headed for the treeline, ducking and stumbling as dirt was kicked up behind him. Fire burned through his thigh and his then his shoulder as he fell against a tree and then tumbled down a ditch.

He lay there for a long moment, hand pressed to his shoulder as he curled up against the pain. He had to move, he knew he had to, but he also knew he wouldn't make it in his state. All it was going to take was Hydra sending some trained dogs after him and they'd find him bleeding out in a ditch. It wasn't quite the gutter his father had predicted, but Tony felt like it was uncharitably close.

He sobbed in frustration, the anger and pain and longing and hope he hadn't allowed himself to feel, that he'd suppressed just to survive, came bubbling to the surface. The second sob sounded closer to a scream as he vented his frustration. He was so close. He was out. All he had to do move and keep moving and never stop.

His power responded, sluggishly from as much as he'd used it today, and his hand warmed against his shoulder. The warmth spread, easing the sharpest edges of the pain and, when he looked, he saw the bleeding had slowed. It hurt to move, but more like it was a few days after the initial injury. He focused all that anger and frustration, every wild and fierce emotion, and poured his magic into the through and through in his thigh. Slowly, so very slowly, he could see it knit together. He pushed until it was only a steady throb of pain and sweat had beaded his forehead before he pulled himself up into a crouch and tested his weight. It held, not comfortably, but it did. He kept low as he followed the ditch away from the church.

.

Will couldn't help but stare at the screen as his face stared back at him.

He'd searched for years, for decades even, without a trace. Whatever he was doing, his brother had been living off-grid. Not even an arrest. It shouldn't have surprised him where Clint had ended up given he'd ended up with the IMF. Still, SHIELD and the Avengers were a whole other level entirely.

It was unfortunate that he had only found this information after Hydra had been exposed and SHIELD disbanded. Clint had gone to ground and so had most of the Avengers. Will didn't have any contacts at SHIELD and he wouldn't know whether to trust them anymore anyway. Which left Stark as the only potential point of contact.

But Stark was unpredictable and far too exposed. Will's career would be over if the wrong person snapped a picture of him with Stark. Of course, Will thought, scrutinising the image again, they'd probably think he was Clint. His career in the field might well be over again, just when he was finally getting comfortable. They might think he was Clint anyway, or that Clint was him. He'd made some enemies, not on the level of the Avengers, certainly, but dangerous enemies regardless who might not care enough to check if Will had an estranged twin brother. If nothing else, he owed Clint at least a warning.

That settled, he sent off an email, unsure if it would reach anyone before it was sent to spam. There were probably a whole host of people claiming some connection to the Avengers, probably even more claiming a connection to Tony Stark. The best he could do was try. If Clint didn't want anything to do with him, then that was Clint's choice. He easily buried the part of him that always wondered why Clint had never tried to reach out to him.

"Hey, you eat yet?" Ethan asked as he leaned in the door frame. Will looked up, automatically closing out his email just in case. Paranoia was, after all, part and parcel of being a spy.

"Not yet," he admitted.

"Benji and Luther are meeting me around the corner. Figured you could use a break too," Ethan offered in that way of his that was casual but also not, so that Will spent half his time wondering if there was an ulterior motive or some sort of test involved. But he was hungry.

"Sounds good."

Ethan smiled then, bright and boyish in a way that shouldn't work on someone with his age and cynicism, but somehow did.

"I was hoping you would say that," Ethan told him as Will logged off of his computer, grabbed his coat and wallet, and then locked the office behind him. "I have something I want to run by you."

"I should have figured as much," Will said, but he was smiling. He might be stupidly attracted to the man, though he didn't know anyone who wasn't at least a little, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy working with him. Ethan Hunt in the field was a force to be reckoned with.

"The Acting Director thought there was some follow up we should be doing with that SHIELD information dump," Ethan told him.

Will kept gait steady and his expression clear as he wondered if this was an interrogation. Nicer than some, sure, but no less directed or invasive.

"So you know about my brother?" he asked since there was no point denying it.

Ethan stopped and turned, lightly touching Will's elbow to ensure he had his attention.

"I saw him, yes, but that's not what this is about. You'll tell me in your own time, if you want to, and in the mean time Benji will pester you with theories that would fit better in a rejected soap opera," Ethan said, searching Will's expression until he could see that some of the tension had leeched away. He then guided them back to their brisk pace. "I just want to use that analytical brain of yours."

"Alright," Will said, relieved and disappointed at the same time. It had been more than a decade since he'd told anyone about his twin and that had just been a short line on one of his employment forms.

“Good. Because someone’s going to need to pick up SHIELD’s slack and figure out how much of what they’ve been doing has actually been Hydra,” Ethan said, giving him once last sidelong look, before becoming all business. Will for one was more than glad for something other than his family issues to focus on.

.

Eliot and the team had had their suspicions about the trustworthiness of SHIELD from the moment they'd joined. Those suspicions had only increased the longer they'd been involved, so it was almost a relief that everything was exposed when it all came to a head with Captain America and Black Widow downing three helicarriers.

True to their word to each other, for every person they took on for SHIELD, they made a point of investigating thoroughly and keeping for their own any additional information they encountered. On both enemies and supposed allies. As far as they were concerned, the only real allies they had were each other, Nate and Sophie. In a pinch they might consider Archie, Quinn, Tara and Bonano. At this point, they had a veritable library of information on several well-placed, wealthy, or prominent people. It was only a matter of choosing the right time to use it.

The moment the information hit the web, Hardison was downloading as much of it as he could get at. It wouldn't take long for someone to try to control the flow of information and he wasn't going to let anyone hide the truth from him.

Eliot looked at his phone when it vibrated and considered the message there for a moment; 'You still have a job to do' and a link.

"Hardison," he said, showing the younger man the message.

"There's no information on the sender," Hardison said, tapping away at his laptop.

"Think it's Fury?" Parker asked and Eliot grunted. There were very few people who could escape Hardison's reach once he set his sights on them, especially once he'd had access to SHIELD, and by extension Stark, technology.

"Guess he got over it," Hardison said, isolating his laptop from their network before checking out the link that had been sent. It opened up to a series of files, most containing information already available from the Black Widow info dump, some with information they'd managed to gather themselves during the course of their consulting with SHIELD.

"We don't work for SHIELD anymore," Parker said, then cocked her head to the side. "Not that we ever really did."

"They're mostly SHIELD agents that are suspected of being Hydra," Hardison told them as he opened each folder in a new window, scrolling through the information.

"Fury's a little late to that party," Eliot said, folding his arms. They'd been investigating SHIELD itself for years already. After Dubenich and Latimer, the Italian, Sterling, they weren't likely to trust any source of information they hadn't verified themselves and given the way they'd been brought into SHIELD, they hadn't been inclined to trust them either. It seemed they'd only been too right about that.

Ever since before Fury had showed up, Eliot had been having dreams about being chained and he couldn’t help but wonder what it meant. He'd found people he considered as close as family, he'd found purpose. He might even have found a little bit of redemption. If his subconscious was trying to tell him there was still something holding him back or warning him about something, he couldn’t tell what.

Their occurrence didn't seem to follow any set pattern. They didn't only happen when he was under undue stress, although that did seem to be one of the factors. He'd tried meditating, he'd tried exhausting himself until he was too tired to dream, he'd tried not sleeping as much, but nothing seemed to make any difference. They came when they came and went when they went.

"Looks like there's some overlap with the black box too," Hardison added and Eliot shook his head, focusing on the job at hand.

"Business as usual?" Parker asked as Hardison continued making copies of the information so he could double-check it against their own and supplement anything they might have missed.

.

The moment Tony hit actual civilisation, and Tony had never been more glad to know what little Russian he did than when he heard everyone around him speaking it, he found an Internet cafe and _asked_ for the WiFi password. And a coffee while he was at it. He'd feel bad about using his abilities later when he could actually afford to, in more ways than one.

He checked the date in the corner of the screen and had to breathe carefully for several long moments so he didn't flip the table or accidentally find some new, explosive manifestation of his powers.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. He'd seen the occasional newspaper and magicked information more than once, but he hadn't really let the implications set in. He couldn't. Not if he wanted to remain functioning and that had been his only hope for survival.

But six years. Six years were gone. Had been stolen from him. Whatever was left of the life he'd left behind wouldn't have any space for him anymore, not when there had been an imposter with his face doing who knows what. Maybe he had a wife and family out there by now. Maybe he'd joined the FBI or Homeland. Maybe he was still Agent Afloat.

He was stalling, he knew, cursor hovering over the search bar, not wanting to really know how the world might have moved on without him. He knew Hydra was still a threat, he knew there'd been aliens, no one quite knew what he was, but that was all the big stuff. He wanted to know the small things. He wanted to know that everyone was alright.

He couldn't use his login, not when Hydra was no doubt looking for him and it might set off any number of alarms, but he doubted Gibbs had changed his in the last six years. Not when he hadn't changed it in the eight years before that.

The first personnel file he looked up was Gibbs and it was a shock to see that he was due to retire in a few months. He figured the man would die on the job long before they dragged him out kicking and screaming. It didn't make any sense and it only undercut just how much he'd missed.

McGee was next and it seemed that despite a number of attempts to transfer out, McGee was stuck in Cyber Crimes. Granted, he was running the place, but Tony knew it wasn't where he wanted to be. Although, he supposed he couldn't really be that surprised that McGee kept getting knocked back; he remembered McGee's showing when Gibbs had been in Mexico. Still, it was nice to know McGee was getting on, if not at the level he was sure the man had hoped for.

He wondered if Ziva had returned from Israel at all, but the death certificate in her file was a punch to the gut. They hadn't always got on, he'd struggled with trusting her, but he hadn't wanted her dead. It didn't appear as if she'd ever returned to the States after her summary exile and he couldn't help but wonder what her father had gotten her wrapped up in.

At least Abby, Ducky and Palmer were all still working at NCIS and Tony was relieved that at least something had stayed the same. For a moment he allowed himself to fantasize about walking back in there and everything being as it was, but not even his strange ability with illusions could make that happen. He'd never be able to pass the medical even if he did hold out a hope for things going back as they were.

Lastly he looked at his own file, mostly out of curiosity. He wasn't sure how he felt staring at his own death certificate. He shouldn't have expected any different, not really, but somehow he had though he wasn't sure what precisely. It seemed cold and clinical, detached. But that had been his life for the last six years, why should his death be any different.

There weren't any details, though there was a link to a case file that apparently Gibbs couldn't officially access. No doubt the FBI had taken over the investigation of a missing Federal Agent. Instead, Tony went the straightforward route and simply googled his name. The first article was about a Federal Agent disappearing in a foreign port. He scrolled through it briefly, but it didn't give too many specifics. It barely even mentioned that he'd been NCIS.

The next article from one of the Washington DC newspapers mentioned his funeral and that was a punch to the gut to see. Not even the surprisingly large turnout could make up for everything that he'd lost. There hadn't been a body, the mystery of it all probably the only reason he'd even merited an article, but eventually they'd had to declare him dead he supposed. There were a few quotes from his frat brothers, one from Ducky too, and a handful of pictures.

Gibbs standing stoically beside what must have been an empty coffin, Abby curled into his side sobbing into a lace handkerchief. Behind them he could just make out Ducky and Palmer, and he thought the third figure might just be McGee.

Another photo showed his frat brothers and their spouses filling a pew on one side of the church. He hadn't expected any less from them. They'd been part of each others lives for decades and were the only family some of them had. Behind them he could see Fornell and a few of his other FBI contacts, some DC cops he'd been friendly with and even a couple of the cops he'd been on the Force with.

The last photo was of just about everyone he knew at NCIS; analysts, admin staff, security, his fellow agents. Unexpectedly he felt his eyes sting and he had to swallow hard as he rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands.

There wasn't a picture of his father but Tony hadn't really expected anything different. Hoped maybe, in some distant way, but not expected. His father hadn't shown up when he had the plague, had probably thought that Tony's funeral was going to be a small, depressing thing. Not even Tony could have anticipated the turnout. The only thing his father was likely to regret about not going was missing what was clearly a prime networking opportunity.

After a moment to gather himself Tony forced himself to think about practical matters. No doubt his will had been executed and he wouldn't have access to any of his previous resources. He didn't allow himself to spend more than a moment wondering where all his possessions, his mementos, his piano, had gone. That life was gone. That Tony DiNozzo was dead and buried.

He was relieved to find at least that the account he'd set up with the majority of his trust fund and inheritance, hidden well away from his father's prying eyes and grasping hands, was still intact. It would simplify things immensely. He logged off and cleared his tracks, though he stopped just long enough on his way out to get one of the touristy postcards on display and scrawl a quick message.

'Sorry about missing the cruise. Wrecked the Mustang again. It was irreplaceable and I didn't have your permission. Repairs took a while, but it's running again. Gone backpacking, not sure when I'll be in touch.'

He posted it before he could question himself too hard about what he'd written and whether he should send it at all. He didn't sign it; either Gibbs would understand or he wouldn't.

As he turned the corner, Tony let the visage of a nondescript blond-haired, brown-eyed man wash over him.

....

**April 2015**

Will wasn’t sure he wanted to be in New York city. He especially wasn’t sure about being anywhere near Stark Tower. The place seemed to be more than a little dangerous at the moment, what with alien invasions or gods and men who could control other people’s minds. He had enough to do just keeping the regular people in check, he didn’t want to add the unusual ones too.

But Clint was here and that meant Will would be to. It had taken a year to actually get to the point where Clint would meet with him, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. The first email hadn’t amounted to anything, but he’d persisted with a series of formal letters and eventually one of Stark’s lawyers had followed up with him. It hadn’t been easy or simple, but eventually they’d let him set up a meeting with Clint at Stark Tower.

“Another one bites the dust,” a dark-skinned man said, knocking into Will as he passed. Will glared back at him and his companions, but the glare faded as he stared. There was something about one of the man’s companions. The shorter, broad-shouldered man looked back at Will

“We probably shouldn’t stick around New York too much longer,” the blond woman said. “Eliot?”

“Yeah,” Eliot said, voice barely above a growl. “We should go.”

Will found himself staring at the man, not sure what it was about him that put him on edge, but his instincts were screaming at him even if he wasn't sure what exactly they were saying. It might have been that this man had been involved in one of his missions or in one of the files he’d analysed, but neither option seemed to quite fit.

Nonetheless, he committed his features to memory, not all that difficult to do of recent, and planned to look them up later. Until then, he had a brother to track down. He walked the rest of the way down the block to Stark Tower and entered the lobby.

“Agent Brandt,” a man greeted him as he stepped through. “Your meeting is on the 14th floor.”

The man indicated an elevator and Will followed after a moment’s hesitation. They rode in silence as the elevator rose and the man then guided him through the corridors until they came to the door of a conference room. The man held the door for him and shut it behind him once he entered. Clint stood at the far end of the room, staring out the window.

“Clint.”

“Will,” the other man said, turning to him.

Will strode forward and pulled him into a hard hug. After a moment, Clint brought his arms up and held him just as tightly.

“It’s been a while,” Clint said when they finally released each other.

“Yeah.”

Will couldn’t help but stare at Clint, taking in the changes the decades had wrought. They were still identical, but Clint had laugh lines in the corners of his eyes where Will had frown lines. His posture was loose and ready where Will was tense and wound tight.

“You look good,” Will told him.

“You’re only saying that because it’s your face too,” Clint said with a grin. Will smiled but didn’t bother to correct him. They were silent for a long moment and Will wondered if Clint was struggling like he was with where to even start.

“I wasn’t really expecting to see you,” Clint told him, rubbing the back of his head as he look at Will. Will opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, not entirely sure how to respond to that.

“You disappeared without a trace. I didn’t know how to find you before,” he said, trying hard to keep the accusation out of his voice.

“You were better off with them. That family that took you,” Clint said, lowerng his eyes and looking away. That wasn’t Clint talking, that was Barney, even after all these years.

“The Brandts.”

“Yeah, them.”

Will didn’t know how to tell him that while the couple who adopted him had been kind enough and had wanted a child, they hadn’t really wanted the trouble of one. It was why they’d only taken Will and not Clint, who’d already had a reputation as a bit of a trouble-maker.

Even so, they’d died in a car accident when Will was fourteen and he’d been left on his own again. He’d been shuffled around a couple foster homes until he’d finally been settled in one just before his fifteenth birthday. He’d stayed there until he’d gone off to college at sixteen, at which point he’d sent the police an anonymous list of all the incidents he’d seen and experienced because even if he was getting out there were a bunch of kids that weren’t.

But Clint didn’t need to know any of that. Because even as kids he’d tended to take on more than his fair share of guilt and tended to view it as his job to protect Will, even though Will was technically older.

“I always needed you,” Will said instead.

“You went with them,” Clint said, mouth a thin line, eyes still not meeting his.

“I thought I could convince them to take you too.”

He hadn’t realised then that good people could still be selfish and short-sighted, or that they could convince themselves that hurting other people would be good for them in the long run. Clint simply grunted and Will sighed.

“You like being an Avenger?” Will tried, because the past was probably better left in the past. Though he wasn’t sure the present was much better. The information released on Clint did include being mind controlled by a despotic god, after all. Will didn’t bring it up.

“Sure. I’m saving the world. What’s not to love,” Clint said. He didn’t elaborate and Will floundered for a moment, caught between too many questions and not wanting to push things when they were already awkward. He couldn’t regret seeking out Clint, seeing him alive and well, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Clint maybe regretted that he had.

“You back in field work?” Clint asked finally.

“Yeah,” Will said, not able to elaborate much more than that, but he realised Clint must have been keeping track of him over the years. He smiled a small, wistful smile. Maybe it hadn’t been the reunion he’d been hoping for, but maybe they could get there.

.

As soon as he could, Tony had gotten out of Russia. The last thing he needed was to be considered an operative working in a foreign country. He’d avoided Italy and Britain both because of his family ties, figuring whatever was left of Hydra would look for him there first. Instead, he’d _asked_ his way onto a flight to Spain, one of the few languages he spoke with fluency though the dialect was quite different, and started searching from there.

His travels had taken him from Spain, through France, the south of Germany, Austria, Poland, and back through the north of Germany, before he’d gone north to Norway. He hadn’t found out as much as he’d liked. Mostly that, while he could often feel sites of power, very few of them spoke to him in any meaningful way. Not like the one in Russia. Although that had changed the further north he went.

The only thing he’d been able to find in common was that most fo the sites he’d felt any sort of resonance with had, at one point, been Viking settlements. He had no idea what to make of that other than to assume there was probably some Viking blood somewhere on his mother’s side and maybe that meant something.

He looked out over the cliff where once there had been a shrine. The sky was grey and the wind cold, but Tony couldn’t help but marvel at the sea stretched out before him. He could understand why this might have been considered a sacred place once upon a time; the lines of power, whatever they were, were almost tangible in the way they converged around him.

His hair stood on end as his skin prickled and he looked around, trying to determine where the feeling was coming from, what threat he could sense. Blue-green light began to emanate from the air around him and he took several steps back until he was out of the way, but continued to watch curiously.

A man tumbled from the light, landing hard on the ground, blood staining his dark outfit darker, and Tony hesitated before moving cautiously toward him. He barely even noticed when the light faded to nothing, his attention mostly on sensing anything from the man or listening for anyone who might approach.

Rolling him over showed that it wasn’t as dire as Tony had feared. The man man undoubtedly needed medical attention but he probably wasn’t going to die at any second, which was a relief. Tony laid hands on him and pressed in with his magic, not sure how to aim it any more precisely.

It was only once he’d healed the most obvious and most worrying injuries that his features became recognisable and Tony jerked away, stumbling back. He’d obviously done enough though, for his patient to recover, because he frowned as he shifted from unconscious to simply resting. Tony braced himself, knowing there was nowhere near to run or hide in time.

Loki, attempted subjugator of humanity, started awake and rolled into a crouch, daggers appearing in his hands in a flash of bright green magic. His eyes darted, taking in his surroundings, before they settled on Tony with an intensity that had him suppressing the urge duck his head and break the gaze.

"Where is he?" Loki demanded.

"Who?"

"The Mad Titan."

"No titans here, mad or otherwise. Just you and me."

Tony tensed as he felt something brush by him, like a breeze though nothing moved. It felt similar to Tony's magic, when he let it loose, and Tony wondered if Loki was double-checking Tony's assertion.

"You're still injured," Tony said, raising his hands to show he had no weapons. "Let me just check on how you're recovering."

Loki hesitated, pain still pinching the corners of his eyes and thinning his lips. Slowly, Tony moved to unholster his gun and placed it on the ground before kicking it away. It was symbolic really. It wouldn't have helped him and clearly Loki was better and far more experienced with magic than he was. Really, the only chance he had of surviving a vengeful and unpredictable god was appeasement.

Finally Loki nodded his assent, though he didn't lower the daggers and he remained tensed, ready for any move Tony might make. Tony approached him slowly, aware of the weight of Loki's watchful gaze, taking in even the smallest twitch and evaluating it for potential threats. He rested a hand on the deepest cut grazing Loki's side and curving down along his hip, ignoring the dagger that shifted to aim for his jugular should Loki wish it.

He kept his eyes on Loki's, so he noticed in the widening of his eyes and flaring of his nostrils, the moment Loki felt his magic seep into the wound and slowly knit the skin together. Loki searched his features almost desperately and Tony knew the instant he saw the scales, small and iridescent, that started behind his ears and at the nape of his neck, growing larger and darker as they went down his spine. They would be difficult to miss this close up.

"What is your name?"

"Tony," he said, not elaborating further.

Loki's dagger disappeared and his fingers flexed, as if reaching out to touch, but Tony wasn't about to let a stranger, never mind a god wanted for war crimes, get that close. He let his hand, and the healing, fall away as he stepped back. He'd done enough to ensure that the god wasn't going to die and was well on his way to recovery.

"How..." Loki began before shaking his head. "Where are they? Where are your brothers?"

"I don't have any," Tony told him, edging backward. "Only child here. Although I suppose there might be a bastard or two with the way my father carries on."

"Your father," Loki said slowly, making no movement to follow Tony's cautious retreat, though it was clear he hadn't missed it. He straightened, magic rippling over him as his clothing changed from the outdated cloak and leather armour to a more modern suit. The bruising and scrapes disappeared from view, though Tony could sense they were still there, just under an illusion. "I am in your debt, more than you would believe."

"A debt from a god, even a disgraced one, isn't a small thing," Tony said.

"No, it isn't," Loki agreed solemnly, before he stepped back, into the fissure or rift or whatever it was, a different, deeper green light shimmering briefly and almost unnoticeable this time, and disappeared.

Tony let out a shuddering breath and dropped to his knees when his shaky legs wouldn’t hold him anymore. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd survived, but he wasn't going to question his luck. It was time he was moving on anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the break in writing. I was doing coursework on top of working full time and just haven't had the time. But my course is done, so hopefully there'll be more soon.

** May 2015 **

 

Will wasn’t sure what to make of what he was seeing. He’d seen natural disasters and war zones that weren’t as destroyed as what was left of Sokovia in the aftermath of Ultron. The entire capitol city and its surrounds were utterly wiped out. It would take decades for the country to recover and probably just as long for the people. It wasn't ever quiet, not with the way the wreckage creaked and settled as burst water mains or rescue operations caused shifting beneath the surface.

 

"How's it looking on the ground?" Benji asked.

 

Bad, Will thought, really bad.

 

Whatever satellite images Benji was tapped into, it couldn't be anything to the absolute devastation he could see, not just of the city, but on the tear-stained, hollowed-out expressions around him.

 

"There's no definitive count yet, but the death toll is looking to be in the thousands, if not tens of thousands. The impact spread for miles and the shockwave did a fair amount of damage as well. Criminals are moving into the power vacuum left by the chaos and I can't tell if the agents crawling all over the site are SHIELD or Hydra."

 

"So, not good," Benji said.

 

"No."

 

The only benefit was that Will was afforded a great deal of courtesy from the locals because he looked like his brother. Will wondered where Clint was now. He's seemed to disappear without a trace again after Ultron. He hoped he wasn't in New York, not when there were reports coming out about a man who could control people. Clint didn't need to go through that again.

 

"Where do you need me?" Will asked the first volunteer he came across who wasn't hurrying off in another direction. The woman brushed the pale hair that had come loose from her unruly ponytail out of her face and pointed in the direction of several crates that were piled on top of each other.

 

"We need the medical supplies unpacked. We're already running out of the basics. And when you're done there, find the food supplies. We need help with distribution," she told him.

 

"Yes ma'am," he said and went to the first crate, unpacking stacks of gauze and compression bandages. "Are we getting many survivors?"

 

Initial reports hadn't been promising, but the fact they were using up medical supplies almost faster than they could keep up with was. It meant there were survivors being found and there was still some hope to be had out of the situation.

 

"One of the rescue volunteers seems to be doing better than most of the dogs at finding them," she told him, looking beyond exhaustion but also determined. "He doesn't come back in until he's found someone and then he's right back out there again."

 

"Which organisation is he with?" Will asked, wondering if someone had sent an asset with abilities to assist. The woman gave him a sharp look and he focused on what he was doing and appearing uninterested in the answer.

 

"Don't know," she said, turning away and getting back to setting out the instruments the doctors would need for their triage. Will didn't push. Clearly she, and probably others had taken a liking to the guy and forcing the issue was only going to alienate him and he needed to know the new balance of power in the region.

 

They worked in silence for several minutes, the woman casting glances at him, but he kept his head down and continued working. He was scheduled to stay in the area for a few days, there would be time to blend into the background, become one of the faces they were used to seeing around, and get information then.

 

"Give me a hand here," a man's voice said in accented English. He sounded Italian to Will's ear, but he couldn't pinpoint a specific dialect. The volunteer turned and called for assistance even as Will rushed to help the man who was half holding, half dragging another man with him.

 

“Sure,” Will said, stepping up to take the weight of the survivor. They maneuvered him to a cot and then stepped back to let the woman and one of the medics hurry forward.

 

“Thanks Nico,” the woman said as the medic gave him a quick nod. “We’ve got it from here.”

 

“No problem,” the man beside him said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and grimacing when all he did was smear the dirt around. Several other volunteers stopped just long enough to give the man a brief nod before they continued on and that was enough to tell Will that whatever he'd been doing to help with the rescue effort, he'd made an impression on the others.

 

Nico had dark hair and darker eyes, a large nose and a cleft chin. There shouldn’t have been anything about him that particularly stood out, but Will felt like he should recognise him somehow anyway. Will might have wondered if there was some aspect of body language, a gesture or stance or particular expression, that he might be recognising on a disguised asset, but Nico was dusty and grazed from climbing through rubble and there was no sign of a mask of any sort. Maybe he was just a good guy who wanted to do the right thing. Will sometimes had to remind himself that there were still people like that in the world.

 

“Sam Johnson,” Will said, holding out a hand to shake. “I’m here with the International Mercy Foundation.”

 

It had taken him almost two days to get the necessary credentials and make his way through the blockades that had been set up, but there'd been people on the ground working to recover any survivors almost immediately. He wondered how long Nico had been at it. There was a general weariness to everyone that spoke of long hours in uncomfortable situations.

 

"Domenico Veneziano. Nico," the other man said with a bit of a flourish and an easy smile. Something about the full name niggled at his memory, but he pushed the thought aside, knowing his subconscious would work through the problem. Nico's grip was cool to the touch and firm. "I was backpacking through Europe when all of this happened and I thought I'd volunteer."

 

Will raised an eyebrow. The other man looked to be in his thirties and that wasn't exactly the demographic that usually dropped everything to travel aimlessly. Nico should have had connections, responsibilities, the obligations people accumulated just by being part of a society.

 

"It's never too late to go looking for yourself," Nico said in answer to Will's unasked question.

 

Will could understand that. Maybe a little too well. He'd lost himself more than a little when he'd failed Hunt and his wife. He'd lost confidence in himself and his leadership abilities. He couldn't trust himself in the field. It wasn't until Hunt has swept into his life and dragged him into the field again and he'd found out that Julia was alive that he'd felt remotely like himself again. Changed, inevitably, by his experiences, but closer to himself than he'd been in years, so he got where Nico might be coming from. He also knew there was probably some level of trauma behind the decision.

 

"There is no Domenico Veneziano," Benji said in his ear. "Not matching his description."

 

It wasn't a surprise and it didn't have to mean anything. Someone looking for themselves could find any number of reasons to use a fake name. Will wanted to believe he was just a man reinventing himself, finding who he was by leaving who he wasn’t behind.

 

"I take it your parents were art lovers," Will said, realising why the name had tickled at his memory. Domenico Veneziano was a Renaissance painter and Will had seen one of his pieces in a museum in Berlin. He'd been stuck looking at it for twenty minutes while covertly aiming a parabolic microphone at his target. Nico looked surprised before grinning.

 

"Sì," he conceded. "I inherited their appreciation for finer things."

 

"That explains your luxurious accommodations then," Will said and Nico laughed.

 

Will looked at the man with his scrapes and bruises, who'd spent the last few days crawling through muck and ruins to find survivors and probably more than a few dead bodies, and who was still heading back into the thick of it and he recognised that there was some part of him that wanted to believe Nico, wanted to trust him and believe that there were a few good people left, a few people worth fighting for. But he knew just how dangerous that sort of thinking could be.

 

“I should be heading back out,” Nico said, expression sobering.

 

“No rest for the wicked?” Will asked.

 

“Not until there are no more survivors to find.”

 

Nico ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it, and looked down. Will could see the toll the last few days had taken on him. He looked like the last thing he wanted was to walk out the tent, but that he was going to do it any way.

 

“Might be worth keeping in touch," Will said, fishing out a card for his cover and handing it over. “I’m good at getting people the things they need. If you're struggling with getting resources let me know."

 

Nico looked at the card with a frown before he nodded and slipped it into a pocket.

 

"Grazie," Nico said with a bland smile and Will was reasonably certain that he wouldn't but it was worth a try. It never hurt to have contacts at all levels and there was something about Nico that made him think keeping in contact would be useful.

 

Will watched him go, figuring he’d never see him again and unsure why he felt disappointed at that.

 

.

 

Tony sank down onto the nearest chuck of concrete, absolutely exhausted from the day's efforts. He'd found almost 30 people over the course of the day, although the rate at which he was finding them alive was dropping alarmingly.

 

What was left of the city was crawling with agents and spies and Tony knew he should leave, should get out while he still had a chance, but he couldn't, not when there was a chance of saving someone. He might not be an agent anymore, might not even be human, but he couldn't erase the need to help people.

 

There was also Sam. When he'd bumped into him several more times over the course of the day, the man had felt familiar, comfortable in ways Tony hadn't felt since before Hydra. He could feel the shape of the card in his pocket, but he couldn't afford to trust anyone, not when he'd seen what Hydra was capable of.

 

The shifting of rubble had him up and turning to see five men in tactical gear approaching him. They didn't have any identifiers on their gear but Tony assumed they were Hydra. No one else should be trying to sneak up on him.

 

"You're a difficult man to find," the one slightly in front of the others said, verifying Tony's suspicion.

 

"Scusate," Tony said, angling his body and reaching for the knife hidden at the small of his back. "I don't know what you mean."

 

"Fair warning," the Hydra agent said a little too loudly and Tony noticed the earbuds. "The intel guys say you match the profile and it's not my problem if you don't."

 

The agent shrugged, apparently unconcerned with imprisoning or killing a potentially innocent man. But then, given what he knew about Hydra, Tony wasn't exactly surprised. The idea that they had a profile of him that was accurate enough to pinpoint him this well terrified him. He'd never be able to escape them.

 

"Stop," he _told_ them. Nothing happened. His heart started thudding in his chest. The earbuds obviously doubled as earplugs, blocking out any sound but each other.

 

"I haven't done anything wrong," he continued, pretending ignorance while he shifted his grip on the knife. He kept the two Hydra agents moving to surround him in his periphery. They weren't going to let him go, right guy or not, but if he could make them believe he was the wrong guy for just a few moments, he might get the advantage.

 

"If you resist, I don't have to drag your sorry ass back to Russia," the first agent said as though Tony hadn't spoken.

 

Russia, Tony thought, keeping his expression wide-eyed and incredulous even as he shifted his weight. With a flick of his wrist he threw the knife, hitting one of the agents sneaking up behind him in the throat. He leapt at the second one, striking out at his wrist as the agent raised his gun and putting him between Tony and the others. The first agent fired at his own man and Tony dragged him back with him until he could duck behind a chunk of concrete. He glanced to see where the gun had landed, but it was too far to grab easily. He pushed out an illusion of exactly what was there already so that when he inched carefully forward they wouldn't see him.

 

"He's moving," one of the agents said and Tony looked up to see the guy in the back holding a screen that he was watching intently while he aimed a laser pointer at Tony. It had to be infrared. Ordinary cameras wouldn't pick him up, but infrared should, even if he wasn't as warm-blooded as a human anymore. The other two agents shot blindly at where the pointer was aimed. Tony grunted as pain blossomed across his shoulder and along his arm and he ducked back, pushing his healing power to the affected area.

 

He needed a plan and quickly, he thought as he glanced around. His gaze fell on the body of the agent he'd used as a shield. A plan began to form and, before he could question himself, he hoisted the body up, propping it against the concrete he was hiding behind. As soon as it began to draw fire he dived for the gun. Tony aimed from the ground and shot at the agent holding the infrared. The agent cried out but went down, the equipment crashing to the ground with him. The other two agents dived out of the way.

 

He shot at one of the remaining agents as the man scrambled for cover shooting wildly back and managed to catch him in the thigh so that he had to drag himself the rest of the way. Tony crouched back behind the concrete, knowing the one handgun he’d taken wouldn’t be enough to deal with the two. He breathed steadily, trying to think of a way out.

 

"Nico," Toby, one of the relief workers, called. A moment later a rock sailed through the air, hitting the last standing Hydra agent on the shoulder. The man barely recognised the hit to his body armour until it was followed by a flurry of others. A group of other relief workers were heading toward the downed agent.

 

Tony took off running, shifting his appearance as soon as he turned the corner.

 

.

 

It was the second day of Eliot's spirit quest on a mountaintop and he still couldn't quite understand what he was doing there. He'd even had to avoid the mountain rangers so he could go off the path where he wouldn't be interrupted. The first day hadn't felt like it was leading him to any answers and he wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping to happen.

 

His dreams had been plaguing him more frequently, to the point that they were affecting his ability to look after the team and that was unacceptable. Meditation had only helped so much and he'd never needed sleeping pills before. He also refused to self-medicate like Nate had. That wouldn't end well for anyone. When he'd exhausted all the options known to him, he tried some unknown ones.

 

He'd once done a job for an old Comanche man after he'd split from Moreau, retrieving an artifact that was sacred to the tribe but of some artistic and monetary value to a European collector. When he'd returned the artifact, Mukwooru had told Eliot that he would see him again and that Eliot would know when it was time to seek him out again. So Eliot had.

 

"Your spirit is sick," Mukwooru had told him. "You need to go up to the top of a mountain and fast for two days and two nights and see what the spirits have to tell you."

 

So here Eliot was, at the top of peak in the Great Basin National Park. Parker and Hardison weren't expecting him back for a week but Mukwooru had warned him against taking more than two or three days since he'd be unprepared for the toll it would take.

 

The previous morning, he’d hiked off of the main trails for several hours so he could ensure he wouldn’t be disturbed by other visitors to the park for the duration. When he'd found himself in a clearing at the top of a steep cliff, the park stretching out before him in all directions, he'd known this was where he needed to be.

 

After he'd set up camp, he'd spent the rest of the afternoon in meditation until he felt a little more centered even if he wasn't any closer to an answer than he'd been before. He could be patient when it was for something that was worth it. He'd put aside worries about Parker and Hardison, thoughts about who to pursue next from the black box, and concerns about what was going on with him.

 

He must have fallen asleep during the night because his dreams were plagued with glowing gold eyes watching him from the bushes and low, resonant growls that felt like they reverberated through him, shaking him apart. Some time around dawn he woke up, or thought he did. He couldn't really pinpoint an exact moment between waking and sleeping. He wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't, like reality was balanced on a knife edge and it could go either way.

 

Eliot closed his eyes, breathing slowly in and out as he focused on being in the moment on just letting whatever he was feeling wash over him. Finally, he opened his eyes, breathing in the damp smell of the earth, the crisp smell of the trees. A soft breeze blew across his face, a hint of biting cold on it, but the cold hadn’t ever really affected him.

 

A hawk wheeled in the sky above him, turning in ever widening circles. The underbrush gradually began to rustle with small creatures. The longer he sat, still and silent, the more the world around him came alive. He lost track of the space between his breaths. He stopped counting the beats of his heart. He simply existed.

 

A thunderstorm rolled over him, the charge in the air raising the hair on his arms and the back of his neck. Eliot let it sweep over him as lightning split the sky and thunder rumbled all around him. His skin itched and he focused on breathing through the feeling until it subsided. He’d never felt uncomfortable in his own skin, not even when he was uncomfortable with what he could convince himself was justifiable. The only thing that he had ever been able to control was himself, but this felt like there was something large looming on the fringes just waiting for him to let his guard down.

 

By afternoon, he'd grown restless again, not used to meditating for so long at a time. He wondered idly what he'd find at the end of his quest, hoping he'd get some answers, or at least a lead to head in the right direction, and then chastised himself for putting his expectations on the process. He tried to leave himself open to whatever message might be given to him, but it was difficult when so much was riding on the outcome.

 

By the time night fell again, his eyes were drooping closed more and more often. There was a rumble of thunder in the distance and Eliot wondered if another storm was rolling in. He started out of a doze and froze when he felt a puff of air, too warm for the cool night, against the back of his neck. Sleep was long forgotten as he held himself still, heart beating loud enough in his chest that he was sure whatever else was with him heard it.

 

There was another snort that ruffled his hair and then a crunch of steps as something massive moved around him. A large shape filled the entirety of his vision and he had to lean back to realise it was a wolf, far too large to be natural, and Eliot figured he must be dreaming again, or he’d slipped into the spirit world. Meditation had helped him calm his thoughts, but he'd never experienced anything beyond the normal. Though having worked hunting rare and priceless artifacts, he’d encountered more than a few things he couldn’t explain.

 

The wolf circled him several times and Eliot followed it with his gaze, moving only his head to keep it in view as long as possible. Once Eliot got over the size of him, he noticed that the wolf looked too gaunt to be healthy. His fur was matted with blood and patchy in places where scars carved along his flank.

 

"What do you want from me?" Eliot asked, voice low and even, not wanting to anger the wolf when it stopped in front of him. It towered over him, blocking out the light. "What am I supposed to be getting from all this?"

 

The wolf lowered his massive head until it was level with Eliot's gaze and huffed out a breath that blew the hair from his face. Eliot took that to mean exasperation rather than anger since he was still in one piece and it wouldn't take more than a swipe from one of those massive paws to do him in. No other answer was forthcoming.

 

"I can't keep going like this," Eliot said, not sure if the animal could understand him or not.

 

The wolf pressed his nose into Eliot's chest and nudged him gently. Eliot fell back, just catching himself and held still for a moment, hesitant to make any move that might anger the animal. The wolf whined softly. Hesitantly, Eliot raised a hand and touched the wolf’s muzzle and it pushed against him for a moment before turning and bounding away again.

 

Eliot had no idea what any of his experience meant, but it felt like it might be progress.


End file.
